


Once Upon the Lips

by Bofursunboundbraids



Series: Doodles [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Sex, M/M, Post BotFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3222185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofursunboundbraids/pseuds/Bofursunboundbraids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo loves quince tarts. Thorin loves to watch Bilbo eat quince tarts. Bilbo loves Thorin and Thorin loves him back.</p><p>Sweet fluff</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon the Lips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wanderingsmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/gifts).



Bilbo closes his eyes, his face the perfect picture of pure bliss. Thorin watches, enraptured, at the sight his hobbit (his lover, his husband) presents; lashes laying on the delicate skin below his eyes, a faint dusting of freckles across his nose from the early summer sun, the slow, deliberate movements of his jaw, a faint smile gracing his lips.

(his lips)

With unconscious effort there is a slight constriction of throat, adam's apple bobs, eyes open, and lips part. And Bilbo is speaking, lips moving, spread in a wide smile that engages his whole face. Thorin can't help but smile as well. Bilbo nods his head at Dís who is sitting across the breakfast table from him, and then he's looking straight at Thorin and he's speaking to him. Lips are moving again. Thorin's eyes follow the graceful curve of the lower to the delicate edge of the upper. Not unlike a flower petal. And just as soft.

"Thorin? Hello?"

Thorin's eyes travel back up to Bilbo's, which are looking at him from under lashes as he is want do to when his husband is being stubborn or unnecessarily thick or, such as now, lost in his thoughts and ignoring him completely. It takes two beats for Thorin to come back to earth, with a slight shake of his head and a sheepish apology. Bilbo's frown is already a thing of the past and he pats Thorin's hand. The lips are smiling again.

"I was telling Dis it seems like an age since I've had a quince tart as delightful as this. We've agreed we should keep them on table for the whole of the season."

Thorin nods, casting an eye down at the untouched portion on his plate, the thinly sliced orange fruit arranged in an artful layer on flaky crust and glistening with a syrup glaze. 

(Bilbo licks the syrupy glisten from his lips with the tip of his pink velvet tongue)

"Of course, whatever pleases you, _ghivashel_ ," the dwarf shovels a large piece into his mouth. The fruit is a bit more tart than he cares for, but he manages to keep evidence of that from his face and eats the entire slice. By the time he finishes, Bilbo is onto his third. Thorin notices that his hobbit's chin is getting fuller, by the day it would seem. This pleases him beyond measure. To see Bilbo fat and happy would be the greatest gift, outside of the gift he has already been given. He touches the backside of his wedding band with his thumb and his heart swells in his chest.

"You better take another slice for yourself, love, or I am bound to eat the entire thing myself." Bilbo suggests, his fork delivering another bite to his mouth, parted lips accepting the delivery.

Thorin does as he is told, and eats another slice. No, he's never really cared for quince. The excessive mirth displayed on his sister's face does not go unnoticed.

* * *

Not all days begin like this, but they have become more frequent as time passes in this kingdom under the mountain. Thorin is king and rules well; fair and just. Dwarves are flocking to the Lonely Mountain of the east and everyone is prospering. And beside him sits the fair creature from the west, the hobbit who helped him and the valiant company of Thorin Oakenshield reclaim the mountain, and its legendary treasure, from the dragon Smaug and best the foul forces of evil that had threatened to overtake it all. This Bilbo Baggins, with his peaceful nature and love of pastries and embroidered waistcoats and things that grow in the ground...he is the king's crowning jewel, the king's anchor, and source of solace when the stresses of kingship are great. Bilbo reminds Thorin that there is nothing, really, more important, in all the wide world, than beauty (a belief that every dwarf is born with, embedded deep in their bones). Beauty is to be found just about anywhere and everywhere one looked. Bilbo is the most beautiful thing of all and Thorin cherishes him, and the home they have built together, above all else.

After the duties of the king are exhausted for the day and he is able to shuck that mantle for the one he prefers, Thorin finds Bilbo where he most expected; sitting in his comfy overstuffed chair before a fire burning merrily on the hearth. His hobbit is reading, wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose (merely to fend off eye fatigue, mind you). He's smiling, but only looks up when Thorin is standing directly in front of him. 

"Welcome home," Bilbo sets his book down on the small table to his left, next to the tea service, the pot long since gone cold. "You missed tea." 

"Forgive me, _ghivashel_." Thorin apologizes but Bilbo only waves it away.

"I think I shall bring it to you tomorrow," Spectacles are laid on the book and Bilbo stands up, stretching his arms above his head, "perhaps I can distract you long enough to enjoy yourself. Speaking of...you seemed quite distracted this morning."

"Did I?" Thorin gives him a half-smile. He will volunteer nothing.

"Yes, as if you were a million miles away. Where did you go, if I may ask?"

Thorin's smile fades and his eyes travel from the goldy curls on top of the hobbit's head to hazel green eyes that are reading him like they had that book and on down to barely parted lips. Bilbo sucks the lower one in, between his teeth, and Thorin sucks in a breath in time with a deep throb in his heart. 

"Ahh," is all Bilbo says, nodding and smiling. He takes slow, steady steps towards the dwarf until his bare toes press against steel-tipped boots. Up on his toes he raises himself, slender hands on broad shoulders, and he presses his mouth to the base of Thorin's throat, to the pulse beneath the skin.

(Bilbo's lips are soft. So Soft. And warm. Very warm.)

Bilbo kisses him, licks at the salty patch of flesh. His fingers are digging into Thorin's shoulders. The lips return and Thorin feels the pull of suction and his head falls back and he can't help but moan.

Bilbo takes a step back and rubs a finger over the raised, red spot he has left just above the thick, dark hairs on Thorin's chest. He pats him, softly.

"Next time, Thorin...next time, please...ask me to come with you. I don't like being left behind."

Thorin hangs his head, nodding in understanding. Silently, he moves past Bilbo; takes one step, two steps, three...but then he stops and turns and raises heavily lidded eyes to his hobbit, extends his hand...

"Will you come with me." 

Bilbo's smile is as brilliant and bright as the sun and he places his hand in Thorin's and together they leave the sitting room for the bed room. A fire is already burning on the hearth.

And they come together.

Thorin slides his hands into Bilbo's hair and pulls back. Eyes, now black and wide in the low light, are looking up at him. The small body is vibrating. Thorin lowers himself, slowly, until his lips barely touch Bilbo's. They can feel each other's breath, warm, on their faces. Lips brush. Bilbo tries to get closer, but Thorin holds him still. And the dwarf kisses him. Only lips. The sound they make is beautiful, as perfect and crystal clear a kiss as ever there was. 

Thorin tips Bilbo's head just so and nips at his jaw, lips and tongue soothing the spot, and he finds his way to a gracefully curving and pointed ear and he suckles an earlobe in between his teeth and bites down. Bilbo hums, low in his throat. Thorin nudges curls away from the ear and whispers.

"What do you want?"

Bilbo freezes, his hands flat on Thorin's chest. The dwarf lets go of his lover and steps back. He watches the former oh-so-proper Mister Baggins of Bag End shift to accommodate his oh-so-prominent arousal. Bilbo looks down at his feet, then back up at Thorin. His lips part as if to speak, but quickly shut. He smiles awkwardly before taking a deep breath. 

"Thorin...I want you to..." A lifetime of respectability and decorum fight him, but Bilbo Baggins always wins in the end.

"I want you to have me." 

Thorin smiles sweetly, his eyes glittering in the firelight, and he sits himself on the foot of the bed.

"Bare yourself to me."

Bilbo slides out of the royal blue velvet jacket lined with silver fur that Thorin had gifted him this yule past for the king favors his hobbit in this color more than any other. It falls to the floor, already forgotten as Bilbo works the gold buttons on his waistcoat. He doesn't look at Thorin and his eyes that glitter with the fire's light, but instead focuses on the delicate white and yellow flowers embroidered on a field of spring green silk. That, too, falls unceremoniously to the floor. Braces slide off shoulders and he pauses, his fingers touching the buttons of his trousers. He risks a look up at Thorin, who is watching every deft movement of his fingers. With renewed vigor, these buttons are released from their bonds and trousers are being kicked behind and away with the rest of the garments. The cream linen shirt and knickers are the last of it, and Bilbo stands naked before the fire, the light coloring him in shades of gold and amber. Thorin's breath shudders in his chest. His mouth is watering and he swallows hard around the lump he did not realize was in his throat. His own trousers have become uncomfortably tight.

"Come," he whispers, but the word sounds like nothing more than a croak in his ears. Bilbo steps forward and Thorin lays his rough, blacksmith's hands on his hobbit's soft, podgy waist and pulls him forward.

"Oh," Thorin sighs as he presses his face to Bilbo's chest, breathing in the warmth of his skin, "nothing under the heavens is as you are." And he listens to the steady beat of the most loyal, willing, and loving of hearts.

"Thorin," Bilbo murmurs...

(His name, on his love's lips, sounds as if it is given in prayer)

...his hands deep in his husband's hair and he's curling down over him. 

" _Ghivashel_ ," Thorin nips at the squishy belly as his hands reach and find round, dimpled cheeks and squeeze. Bilbo giggles. It is a sound of such pure delight. The giggles turn to a wanton moan. "You are growing fat, Bilbo Baggins...fat and happy. It would appear that life with me suits you." 

Bilbo lifts his dwarf's face so eyes may meet. "Of course it does. I have no regrets." 

The king takes his consort's hands in his; small, fine-boned, and sun-browned from time spent in the gardens. He presses kisses into the palms of each and entwines their fingers. The pretty face with pouting lips looks down on him and he can't wait any longer. He rises on his two, strong legs and those pouting lips are now parted and ready and he claims them, coming down hard, his own mouth open and wet. His tongue plays at the edges of Bilbo's mouth, slipping in between lip and teeth, before it slides inside. Its plump, playful mate meets it and they touch and slide against one another, and both Thorin and Bilbo wonder at how such an odd act of intimacy can thrill them both to no end. Thorin nips at Bilbo's lower lip and pulls away before he loses himself completely. 

"Don't stop," Bilbo's protest comes out more squeaky noise than word when he is lifted, thick arms wrapped around his legs. He braces his hands on Thorin's shoulders to keep from falling forward and being carried like a stolen bride. Thorin is smiling up at him, a hunger in his eyes and Bilbo can't help blushing; his bare need is hard and obvious and pressed to his husband's chest. 

To the bed Thorin carries his precious burden and, with all the care in the world, he lays him down as gently as if he were made of blown glass. Bilbo sinks in a poof of down and fine linen and looks expectantly at Thorin.

"Am I to be the only one on display?" he asks as he slides down into the cloud-like embrace of the bed. He raises an arm over his head, fingers playing idly in his own wayward curls that lay upon the pillow.

"Only if it pleases you," Thorin says, but he is already pulling at the laces at his throat.

"You know what pleases me, Thorin Oakenshield. Don't pretend otherwise."

"Aye," Thorin can't keep the mirth from his voice. "I just happen to know," he pulls his tunic up and over his head and tosses it to join Bilbo's, "that you are delighted by sunny days." He bends down to unbuckle his boots.

Bilbo laughs, "Yes...yes I do like sunny days, but rainy days also have their charm. And are necessary for growing things."

Thorin nods in agreement with his hobbit's good sense as a boot hits the floor somewhere short of the wardrobe, "and, I know for a fact that you are keen on books of lore and languages."

"Again, you show your keen observation of my habits. It's true. I want to understand all that I've seen and am yet to encounter and what better...way..." Bilbo's last words catch in his throat for Thorin now stands, in nothing but his trousers, his hair falling loose and wild about his bare shoulders. Without thinking, Bilbo lays his hand on his cock, stiff on his belly. Thorin gently scolds.

"No one touches you but me." And he pulls at the laces on his trousers.

"That's not fair," Bilbo complains, but there is no censure in it. He is watching, intently, as Thorin frees himself from the last of his body's confines. Trousers are gone, having flown to some dark corner, and Thorin stands, proud and naked before him. Bilbo knows this body; every plain, muscle, tendon, and scar. He has explored every crook and corner, every joint and appendage. And right now, there is nothing he wants more. 

"I will make amends for this, I promise," Thorin apologizes as he ties his hair back. He climbs upon the bed, and, on hands and knees, he hovers above Bilbo and looks down into eyes that radiate what he feels burning in his own heart. He lowers his head for a kiss and then they are lost to the taste of one another. They drink of one another, long and deep. Thorin wonders at the glorious workings of his hobbit that he should produce a nectar so intoxicating and he goes down for more, his tongue searching for the source of this sweetness. When they come apart, their lips are soggy wet and swollen. Bilbo closes his eyes and swallows before releasing a sigh of deepest contentment.

Thorin chuckles softly, "Does this please you?" He begins at the tip of an adorable nose and, If kisses were confetti, Bilbo's face would've been quickly hidden from view. The hobbit giggles from a particularly ticklish one to the tip of his chin. He pushes Thorin's face away, playfully, but grabs a hold of a wayward lock of hair. Thorin does not try to tug away.

"Does this...does this please me, you ask." Bilbo does the tugging and brings his lover's face close. Against Thorin's lips he whispers, "More than you know." He lifts his head from the pillow and kisses him. "Do I please you?" He asks as he settles back down.

"Hmm..." Thorin assesses the precious face, "I would've thought that was fairly apparent."

"A body likes to hear it," Bilbo ekes out as Thorin presses his lips to a bared neck. Teeth graze and nip and a tongue is dragged from base of throat to hairless chin.

"You please me...you please me to no end," Thorin's voice rumbles across Bilbo's skin causing him to shiver. The dwarf lifts his head in concern, "Are you cold, _azyungel_?"

"No," Bilbo answers, truthfully, but his head is nodding _yes_. Thorin chuckles quietly as he gently lowers himself, covering Bilbo with his weight and his glorious warmth, skin on skin. He nuzzles and kisses, bites and licks, at his lover's collarbone, shoulders, chest...

No longer does he press his lips to skin that lays on bone and muscle. A new layer of softness envelopes Bilbo. And it make Thorin happy because it means his hobbit is well-fed and cared for, but it doesn't change how he loves Bilbo. He loves him, fat and tender, as much as he did when they began their love affair, when the mountain was newly won, and even before that, when his feelings for the hobbit were something he kept to himself, barely understood, and locked away in his heart.

Thorin draws his tongue over small, pert nipples and he bites down so carefully. Bilbo gasps and arches his back slightly in encouragement. Thorin sucks a mouthful of pink tummy in before blowing out and Bilbo laughs at the resulting raspberry. 

"No one can accuse you of not knowing how to woo," Bilbo teases, gripping Thorin by the ears and directing his gaze. Not that Thorin needs directing.

"You inspire me," Thorin places a worshipful kiss upon the rosy red mark he left. "with everything you do...everything you are." He kneads the pretty belly, softly. "every honey bun you devour."

Bilbo lays his hand on Thorin's but does not still it, "I do enjoy a good honey bun. And a hot loaf, right out of the oven. With a lots of butter."

"A roasted joint," Thorin contributes, which earns an emphatic nod from his hobbit, "with gravy."

"Of course with gravy...mushroom gravy...and mashed potatoes...with cheese and garlic and..." just then Bilbo's stomach rumbles loudly. They looked at each other, both surprised by the organ's very vocal complaint. "It's all your fault," he mutters through a deep blush, "you're making me hungry."

"Forgive me, _ghivashel_ , I brought nothing to assuage your hunger." Thorin resumes his trail of kisses and moves over the lovely paunch to a fleshy hip.

"Didn't you?" Bilbo's voice betrays the effect Thorin's ministrations are having on him, the words uttered in a mixture of breath and moan.

"Not a single tart, love." Thorin runs a fingertip up the length of his precious one's gorgeous cock; fat and pink, so swollen the flesh is taut and smooth. There is a small drop of moisture at the tip and he wipes it away before licking his finger clean.

"Thorin...it's not tarts I want inside me." 

Their eyes meet. Thorin wonders if he'll never stop being amazed by this curious creature he lost his heart to. This little soul, rather quiet and unassuming, who is made as happy as can be by a healthy garden and a well-stocked library (as well as larder). A respectable hobbit by all appearances... 

But right now, Bilbo wants him. Wants him so badly. Thorin can see it in his wide, darkened pupils, his swollen lips, of which the lower one is caught between small, pearl-like teeth, the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Thorin never fails to give his love what he wants. He raises himself slowly and slides off the bed. He only needs the crystal bottle tucked away in the rosewood chest of drawers. 

Thorin returns and nestles, on his knees, between Bilbo's legs, which the hobbit clenches about his dwarf's waist. The bottle is unstoppered, and the golden liquid within is poured, carefully, into a cupped palm. Thorin spreads it, an oil scented using the blossoms from Bilbo's rose garden, over the fingers of his right hand. Then he lays that hand on the pretty cock and wraps his fingers around it, and with just the right tension he strokes, up and down, his eyes locked on Bilbo's.

Up and down, in a steady rhythm, watching his lover come unravelled at the edges.

" _Thorin_ " his name is now a plea...Bilbo is not one to beg, but he knows how he wants this scenario to play out and if this continues for much longer...

Thorin places a kiss on Bilbo's hip and releases him. The well-oiled hand moves to cup a small, well-formed sack, brushing his fingers over it in just the way he knows will make its owner... 

"Stop that," Bilbo giggles and half-heartedly swipes at air, his arms not long enough to reach. 

"You want me to stop?" Thorin pulls his hand away, but Bilbo is shaking his head.

"No...don't stop. I never want you to stop."

Thorin raises one of the legs squeezing his waist so he may place a kiss on a bent knee. And he sits there, on the bed, on his knees, and watches...watches the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Watches eyelids blink, breath pass through parted lips that wear the faintest trace of a smile. He watches the life in the one he has chosen, who chose him, to adore for all of the days of their lives.

"I love you." Thorin whispers but Bilbo hears it as loud as the trumpets that ring from the gate in the morning. The words fill him and he slides his body down, just a touch closer, and curls his hips under. He nods as his heart pounds in expectation.

A well oiled hand glides along the full curve of bottom and gives a squeeze before a single finger dips in between the cheeks. It skims the sensitive flesh before alighting on its goal. 

It is no longer like it was in the beginning when their coming together was decorated with fumbling hands and uncertainty. Now, they know each other. Bilbo knows to relax and allow Thorin in, that one finger that plays about and tickles his entrance before pressing in. Thorin knows to enter slowly and to watch Bilbo's face as he opens him up with one patient finger. Then another. And then another...

"Now," Bilbo says, his eyes closed, his breath coming hard and ragged with three thick dwarven fingers deep inside him.

"Now," Thorin repeats, carefully pulling his fingers out of the tight orifice. With great efficiency borne of experience, he slathers his cock with oil, making a show of the pleasure he's giving himself. 

" _Thorin_ ," Bilbo whines. Blue eyes flash from under black lashes and a wicked grin graces thin lips. Thorin moves from between Bilbo's legs and lays next to him, the down of the bed curling about him as he sinks into it. He reaches to take his hobbit's hand and pulls him up from his nest. Bilbo comes up easily and swings a leg over his husband to straddle him at the waist.

"I want to see you," Thorin says, his voice vibrating under Bilbo's seat. The hobbit lays his hands on his dwarf's stomach, his fingers finding and paying reverence to the long, purple scar that is a reminder of how very close they came to being parted forever. The fingers linger a tad too long and Thorin takes the hand away and places it over his heart which beats strong and steady. Bilbo gives a quick smile and mouths _thank you_ before bending down and placing a kiss, there, amongst the thick, black curls that cover his love's chest. He remains for a few beats; breathing Thorin in, kissing him, nipping at a pebble-hard nipple, licking at the kissing bruise he had created earlier. He plants his hands on either side of Thorin's head and gives him one last kiss, open-mouthed and ardent, before sitting back up, his lovely bum rubbing suggestively on a hard, slick cock. Thorin shudders at the sensation, his hands automatically going to a chubby waist in encouragement. Bilbo smacks them away.

"You'll never learn patience, will you, my darling?"

Thorin laughs. "No...and I shouldn't be asked to. You are too much," he softly pinches a thick little thigh, "and too good." He can see Bilbo's blush even in the low light. 

With practiced hands, Bilbo grips Thorin's cock and gives it a few sensuous strokes before positioning himself against it. The tip presses _in_. With shuddering breath, the hobbit slowly takes his lover inside himself. Thorin can only watch, the pressure and heat of Bilbo flooding his mind with a literally breathtaking euphoria. 

When Bilbo is fully seated, he rests, his head hanging, his mouth open, and he gasps for breath while his heart thunders in his chest. Thorin lifts his knees to provide some support and offers his hands, which are clutched tightly, fingers entwined.

And then Bilbo moves.

The dwarf king and the hobbit have only been lovers for just under a year, and wedded but for a few months. They have shared experiences that run from the harrowing to the divine and everything in between. They have fought as passionately as they love, and they have known betrayal and despair at each other's hands. And for all of that they are now here, in the bed they share, in the king's chambers, in the kingdom under the mountain. Here they make love with all of the fire that burns in their hearts for one another. 

Bilbo's back is arched, his head thrown back, and he moves sensuously, as if he's indulging himself at his lover's expense. But this is far from truth. Thorin watches while moans and half-screamed exultations are wrenched from the depths of his soul. His hands rest upon Bilbo's waist, only pretending at offering assistance. He knows he is close...so very close. He slides his right hand across the silken-skinned belly and carefully brushes a finger down the taut, bouncing cock. Bilbo focuses his eyes on him and smiles through his panting. He takes Thorin's hand and wraps it around himself before covering that hand with his own. Together they find the rhythm that takes them to the extremity. It is Bilbo who crosses that invisible line first, and he cries out, his hands braced on the solid plain of Thorin's abdomen. He can feel his own seed on his fingers, warm and sticky. He still can't help but blush with this evidence of his lust so visible and tangible. 

Thorin comes, not with a whimper, but with a roar; his hands tight on Bilbo's waist as his hips jerk with the pulsations. He gulps mouthfuls of air into his lungs and rides out the waves of his orgasm. His limbs seem to have lost their bones, but that is of no worry. Bilbo is already laying on him; Thorin has become a pillow of flesh, blood, and hair. A thick arm wraps about the satiated little man while lips place kisses atop his head. Thorin breathes in deeply and he smells lavender and pipe smoke amongst the wild, honeyed curls. "This is what home smells like," he muses to himself, "This is my love."

The lovers lay there, in their bed, quite content in their post-coital bliss. Quite content until a belly rumbles noisily.

"Was that you?" Thorin asks, unable to keep laughter out of his voice.

"Of course it was," Bilbo murmurs sleepily, "unless you've forgotten to feed the footstool again."

Thorin squeezes his blissful burden, laughing. "What a horrible thing I am to starve you like this! Shouldn't it be near time for su..."

Just then they both hear the ringing bell that signals that dinner is near to being served. A once-sleepy face pops up; eyes open and happy, smile wide and bright.

"AH! There it is, and just in time! I thought I was going to fade away to nothing." And with that, Bilbo bounces off the bed and proceeds to clean himself. Thorin begins to lift himself, slowly, off the bed, but his body hasn't quite recovered enough for any quick movement and he lays back down. Bilbo pounces, a wet cloth in his hand, and cleans the evidence of their love making off of Thorin's hairy stomach and thighs.

Donning a tunic, trousers, and light robe Thorin offers Bilbo his hand and together they make their way to the room where they take their meals, just the two of them. The scents that greet them are absolutely exquisite and Thorin can feel his stomach wake up and find its voice. On the table is laid out a repast of roast meat and vegetables, gravy and fresh baked bread. 

"Ahhh...and a blackberry galette for dessert with whipped cream!" Bilbo all but applauds, bouncing on his toes at the vision of culinary delights laid out before them. Thorin laughs as he pulls out Bilbo's chair for him.

"What...no quince?"

Bilbo shakes his head, waving his hand dismissively. "No no no...no more of that."

Thorin takes his seat at his husband's side, "No? What brings this about? You could do nothing but extol its glories this morning."

"Mmmm..." Bilbo nods his head as he pulls a slab of roast beef on to his plate, "that was this morning. Besides," Bilbo carefully pours a ladle of gravy over the meat and generous pile of boiled carrots, squash, and mashed potatoes that covers his plate from edge to edge, "you don't like quince."

Thorin freezes, his knife mid-way through his roast, "I don't...how do you know?"

Bilbo swallows a mouthful of meat and gravy, and the look on his face is not that far from the one he wore in the bedroom with Thorin deep inside him. "That," he takes a quick sip of wine before breaking off a piece of bread and slapping on an even bigger blob of butter, "is absolutely perfect! Better than any Shire-raised roast."

"I never said..."

"Your sister, Thorin," Bilbo talks around the bread and butter in his mouth, "Dís told me. She said you've hated quince since childhood."

"That's true. Never had a taste for it. It was mother's favorite, though."

"Sounds like your mother was a sensible woman with excellent taste."

Thorin smiles, an image of his mother, in that very room, sitting at table with her husband and children about her, in his mind. And for once the memory doesn't bring sadness, just a fond remembrance.

"Stop keeping these silly secrets to yourself, will you please, Thorin?"

Thorin nods and impulsively steals a kiss, as well as licks a smudge of gravy off Bilbo's cheek.  
He spends the rest of the meal stealing glances at his hobbit; the very picture of quiet contentment and bliss. And when it is time for dessert, he can't help but love the way the berries stain those pretty lips dark purple. He makes sure the dish is left behind when all else is cleared away. He wants to know what else he can stain with the sweet juice. But first, he will start with those lips.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been meaning to write a Bagginshield/body worship fic for a while. I love the idea of Thorin being in awe of the way Bilbo enjoys things. 
> 
> This is a prezzie for my friend [Wanderingsmith](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith). She sent me a few awesome somethings a couple of weeks ago and I am so grateful!!! 
> 
> I listened to a lot of soft rock from the seventies while writing this (sappy stuff that gives me the feels!!). Right now my favorite is [_Everything I Own_](http://youtu.be/a4dXrV4FtjE) by Bread. The seventies were so AWESOME!!!


End file.
